Ash
by MzMoon
Summary: “Dance with me,” he whispered, over the howling of the wind and the roaring of the inferno. AU, AxI


London burned.

Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing watched her world crumble with a stony face. The great buildings of London were swallowed by the raging fires, disintegrating into powdery black ash. Years of history, blood and honor were sacrificed on the altar of Mars, on the altar of a fat little man who loved war. Sir Hellsing closed her weary eyes, and tightened her grip on her pistol. A low moan announced the presence of a ghoul, the undead leavings of a proud British citizen. Her arm flew up, lining the sight with her eyes and the middle of the monster's undead forehead. A quick squeeze of the trigger, and a pile of flesh slid to the charcoal ground.

Another sound told her she was not alone, but this was a very different noise. It was the soft thud of a boot, and the swish of a coat. She turned, and there he stood. Alucard grinned at her, fangs gleaming in the firelight of Hell on Earth. "Master."

"Servant. What is it? You and I both have work to do."

"Work, my Master? No, this is play." The red of his coat was stained darker, an appropriate explanation for his good humor.

"Work."

He smiled wider. "As you wish, Miss Hellsing."

She turned away, and checked her gun. It was in need of reloading. She proceeded to do so, busying her hands with metallic clanks while the vampire spoke.

"Master… do you feel the thrill? Do you get a rush when the bullet flies from your gun? Do you feel a stirring when the head bursts? Tell me Master, do you want more…?"

Integra did not answer. She only guided the magazine home, clicking it into its rightful place.

"Come, Master… join me in this destruction… you want this… I know." His voice was a seductive whisper in the dark, a forbidden truth in her ears. She turned to face him once more, to find he had moved so they stood five feet apart._ So this is his game now._

She laughed softly, a quiet mocking. "Honestly, Alucard, you don't know _yourself_." She leaned on the hilt of her vermillion steel, and continued, dryly, "Supposing I did give in to you, do you honestly believe that I would still fascinate you? _I_ know you, Vampire. Once you have won something, it means nothing, and you are on to the next conquest. Even if I wanted to take the blood, I still would not, not to be discarded like a used toy. No, demon," He watched her silently, red eyes expressionless under dark locks, "I will not become your undead amusement for half a century and then become a wretched fiend." Sir Hellsing took a step forward, blood-sodden cloth weighing on her shoulders. "Tell me, monster, what is it about me that captivates you? What is it Alucard, which causes you to pursue this meaningless attempt to defile my blood?"

He said nothing, for a time. The No-Life King marveled at her, at the way her moonlight locks draped over her shoulders, the tips stained crimson from fallen foes. The icy eyes looked out at him from behind smeared lenses with a stare that could freeze the heart of a seasoned campaigner. Her entire stance, from her stiff shoulders to her aggressive footing showed tension, thick in the ashen air. She stood there waiting, having finally asked the question, and determined to have an answer. _How could she not know? Even now, at the end of the world: no, especially now, she is radiant. _The silence was heavy, broken only by the snap and crunch of bone, and the shrill screams of the dead and dying. The withered corpses danced on scarlet strings around them, grinning witnesses to the drama unfolding in the sea of death. Closer and closer they shuffled, a grey horde closing on the blood-soaked angel and the black-souled demon. Integra glanced over at them, and gritted her teeth behind her closed lips. _We'll have to deal with them, soon._

When he did speak, it was very soft, his voice smooth as velvet. "You are magnificent. You are strong, like the Knights you so loved as a girl. You are defiant, as no other woman has been in the face of Death himself. You are commanding, a presence as imposing as Her Majesty herself. You are vicious, just beneath the surface, Integra. Underneath your skin, you want blood as badly as I. I can taste it… You are my equal, my superior, and the perfect consort. Everything I could possibly desire in a Countess…"

"…_My_ Countess."

_His Countess? _, Integra's face remained carefully blank, concealing the frenzy within. _That he would dare presume… _A gust of smoke and wind tossed her hair back over her shoulders, whipping it around her face. _Now is certainly not the time to dwell on it. _She allowed the ghost of a smile to appear on her lips. "Your past choices in companionship weren't what one would call wise." He frowned and bared a fang.

"The Brides… were a mistake. An entertaining mistake, but still a mistake. But Lucy… Lucy had potential. Not as my Countess, but as… a companion. Mina... was as perfect as I had ever seen before. But it was not to be." The vampire's face fell, revealing the frustration hidden deep within.

"I lost them, Integra. Lucy and Mina. They got away from me… _but_ _I_ _will NOT lose you._" The Nosferatu took three long strides forward, until half a foot separated his nose and hers. She stood still as a statue, only the faint rise and fall of her chest proving her to be flesh and blood. His presence beat upon her face like the very fires of Hell, but she did not step back. _To do so is to surrender. A small one, true, but still a surrender. And I never surrender._ He shifted forward, lips hovering in front of her carefully indifferent expression, his deep scarlet eyes half-lidded. There he stayed for seconds that felt like hours, until she was acutely aware of the lack of his breath upon her mouth. Then he slowly turned his head, leaning until his chin was in the space above her left shoulder. He did not touch her once, not until his midnight mane rested lightly against her cheek. Alucard smiled, savoring the closeness. He drew an unnecessary breath, and sent the air lightly over her ear. His grin widened as she remained still, an ice sculpture. He knew, though, that on the inside, she trembled. He loved it.

"_Dance with me_," he whispered, over the howling of the wind and the roaring of the inferno. There was a soft pressure on her lobe, as the vampire gently pressed his cold mouth on the warm skin. Here she started, and he felt rather than saw her fists clench in fury. Alucard's lips burned against her flesh, searing the blood-streaked skin. His right hand slipped under her beaten trench coat, curving around her waist. "_Come,"_ the word formed against the delicate skin, faint and beckoning.

"Unhand me." Her command was calm, but only barely. The weight on her side did not vanish. Her brow furrowed, and she stiffened. Alucard slid his palm over to the middle of her back, and closed the last distance between them, pressing his chest against hers. She snarled in outrage, and he contained laughter of joy. _Yes!_ His left hand rose to her shoulder, sliding slowly down the slick sleeve. His reddened gloves, once white, trailed over her stained cuff, finally twining her fingers in his.

"_Why? You want to, Integra. Waltz with me on the bones of our enemies. Let us dance on the graves that we have dug and filled, and let us smear their tombstones with mud." _His cold mouth shaped the seduction on her skin, sending waves of nausea and… something else down her spine. She opened her mouth to tell him it was an order, but just then, his tongue flicked against her flesh, choking the words in her throat. He laughed, low and powerful. "_Come, Master. Let us rejoice in this night of retribution!" _He lifted his left hand, clasped over hers, to shoulder level. The No-Life King took a step, twisting Integra so that she would fall is she did not follow suit. She made the step, but then growled and tried to wrench her hand from his. Alucard tightened his grip, not enough to wound her, but certainly enough to prove he could.

Her lips parted, and he drew his head back to look her in the eye. "Master. Don't. _This is your calling. Dance with Death, Integra._" She searched his face, then paused, and looked within herself. _Dear God, what now? _She was in his arms. Alucard's arms. There they stood, poised on the floor of soil and gravedust. _Dear God._ She stared into the eyes of the devil, the Impaler, the menace. Her ear still tingled from his recent attention, and blood from her battles ran down her cheek, mingled with sweat. _And he didn't take any. The demon shows restraint. Hellsing blood is irresistible, or so I am told._ Integra narrowed her eyes, chastising herself. Hellsing. _I am a Hellsing. I will not let this monster beat me._

He made the next step.

The touch on her waist was suddenly gentle, and it guided her. Integra placed her foot next to his, and her eye caught his smile of delight. She was nearly taken aback, for the expression held no menace, no mania. Just pleasure. He swept her around him, the coat draped over her shoulders fanning in an arc of wet cloth. Alucard led effortlessly, hundreds of years of practice evident in every movement. Integra had never waltzed before in her life, as dancing was stricken from the curriculum after she was knighted and replaced with unit tactics. She followed his movements, sweeping and spinning at the flick of his wrist.

_PERFECT!_ The Nosferatu absorbed the warmth from his Master's body, filling his dead limbs with life. She bore into his eyes with an imperialist stare, and contradicted her expression with every movement. He leaned into her, forgetting the rules of the waltz, trying to press against her skin. He could think of nothing better than this night. Here he was, embracing the most magnificent of women, waltzing on the Devil's playground.

Alucard closed his eyes, melodies from long ago running through his mind. Those would not suffice for tonight. In fact, the music was all around them, in the crunch of gravel beneath their feet, in the hiss of soaring flame, in the moans of the dying men. He moved them in time to it, a slow, mournful beat. She followed, clumsy at first, but slowly, she let herself flow with the movements. He opened his eyes once more, to find hers questioning him. He smiled. "Do you hear it, Integra?"

"Hear what?"

"Listen."

"I hear nothing."

"You're listening to the wrong thing. Don't shut out the noise of war. The chaos is our beat. The screams are the aria to which we time our movements. Listen, Lady Hellsing!" They swirled around the clearing, slowly being hemmed in by the mindless zombies, the leavings of the Nazi massacre. They gathered, broken arms outstretched, stumbling over rocks, bodies, each other. Drawn faces screeched and moaned, hissed and choked, ripping their fellows to shreds in the tumultuous advance. The rabble collapsed upon itself and rose again, torn flesh climbing and reaching towards the warm life, and the dark power that called to them.

The wall of dead flesh closed around them, forcing them to carefully tighten their swirling circles. Soon the flowing movements slowed to slow swaying. The overwhelming smell of _him_ threatened to make her dizzy, husky blood and acidic wine and the musk of a book with old, yellowed pages. He gazed at her with a faint, pleasant smile. Her own face was relaxed, and neither fury nor pleasure could claim it. Soon all she was aware of was his chest, sliding against hers, the careful grip on her waist and hand, and his brilliant eyes watching her. She did not know when the movement stopped altogether, and suddenly, both of his arms were wrapped around her waist. His head bowed, then came closer, the sable strands of his hair mixing with the pale purity of her own locks. The vampire tilted his chin, drawing closer to her lips. Integra raised her arms, to push him away or to wind her fingers in his hair, she really wasn't sure. He was four inches, no- three, away when he came to an abrupt halt. An ashen hand was fixed upon his arm and another upon his neck, great dripping blunt teeth poised over his collarbone.

Integra's eyes flicked from the ghoul to the Nosferatu, waiting for the vampire to spring into action. He did nothing but grin, a full-fanged bearing of his teeth. The zombie pulled him from her, and Alucard made no resistance. He simply watched her with expectant eyes as he was pulled into the undead embrace. Her eyes widened with surprise as the mindless undead sank his teeth into the muscle of the vampire's neck, ripping the meat from his bones. The No-Life King did nothing but snarl in discomfort, still watching her.

The pain screamed up his neck, settling behind his eyes and pounding wildly. The tearing ceased as the ghoul cracked his collarbone, snapping off a chip and sucking the marrow from his body. Fountains of red spilled over his chest, coloring his white shirt a deep crimson. Another pair of clumsy hands seized his leg, ripping a hunk of his flesh away from the rest, and pulling his tendon from his leg with a wet ripping noise, splitting his flesh all the way to the back of his hip. The appendage nearly collapsed altogether, sending a cascade of ruby life to the ground. Alucard shifted his weight, in order to remain standing. More and more arms joined these first two, clawing at his back, his arms, his feet. He choked down a howl, and fixed his stare upon the woman watching this feast with cold, calm eyes.

Her hand rose, and then dove into the recesses of her coat. There was a loud crack and a dark spray slapped on the side of his face. The head of the ghoul who had been gnawing upon his bone burst and fell away, only a husk. The others fell upon it, ravenous, consuming its remains. Three more sharp cracks, and the remaining diners disappeared in an explosion of scarlet. Integra stood before of him, defiant and furious, smoking pistol in her right hand. He hissed as blackness enveloped his ruined body, calling the flesh and blood home, and sealing them neatly in place. She glared at him, as if to demand an explanation for his behavior. She nearly leapt back as he dove forward, his arm shooting out over her head. There was a gut-wrenching crunch. Alucard pulled the ghoul behind her away by its neck, a mad grin on his feral features. He threw it to the bloody floor and ground his foot into its face. "Dirt," he spat, and then moved back to his Master. His arm slithered around her waist, the other delving into his coat to produce his treasured Jackal.

The dance began once again in earnest.

Grey faces, drawn and hungry, flew past in a whirl. The hiss of her pistol and the roar of the Jackal punctuated each footfall they made. Graceful explosions of black and scarlet laced the air, useless shells of men and women sliding to the ground only to be consumed by their neighbors. The steps heated, until it was more of a complicated tactical maneuver than a beautiful choreographed pace. It was not long, however, that they found that they alone had the floor, and the other participants had all fallen prey to their weapons.

Alucard came to a halt, and regarded her with fiery eyes. Then, he dropped his gun.

She watched in amazement as the Jackal fell to the red ground, and then looked up in time to catch his lips upon hers. He nearly crushed her in his arms, pressing chilled lips hard against her own. Fangs dug into the sensitive skin, drawing twin beads of blood. The copper taste flooded her mouth. He parted her lips with his, and moaned low in his throat. Integra closed her eyes, fighting rage, surprise, and guilt, and just being. The pistol fell from her limp fingers, and she brought her fingers up to bury in his midnight mane. Their bodies pressed together in heat, cloth on cloth.

His head traveled down her jawbone, until his mouth sucked on her neck, tongue sliding over warm flesh. His hands moved from her back, carefully undoing the buttons of her suit jacket. He nipped at her skin. Slowly the jacket slipped from her shoulders. Alucard growled, sending vibrations along her throat. Integra shivered, caught between lust and disgust. More of one than the other, however. Much more. Her grip on his hair tightened, and she trembled in the face of his ministrations. She could feel him fuddling with her collar, nearly ripping the tie from her neck. She laughed low, and he chuckled as well. Soon her shirt was open, and she sagged as he traced her collarbone with his tongue, leaving a wet trail of glistening saliva.

His palms caressed her curves, unburied from under the suffocating layers of the suit. She gasped, and he snarled in pleasure. The Nosferatu moved back to her uncovered throat, caressing it with his teeth.

"_Master_…"


End file.
